Play For Me
by Cozzybob
Summary: After the mission from hell, Quatre locks himself in the music room and plays his violin for hours on end without stopping. He is bleeding and near psychotic with depression, but he plays to reconcile his demons. Will he ever find the truth?


**Play For Me  
**by cozzybob 

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Quatre, though I do wish. Badly. sigh**  
Archive: **hell yes. please ask.  
**Rating: **R  
**Warning: **language, possible sap, Quatre and music, angst  
**Pairs: **slight 3-4, even slighter 4-5... but I didn't mean to do it, so it's up to interpretation.

* * *

Music is who I am. 

I heard it spoken to me in a mantra, a woman's voice echoing in my head. "Hush, hush my Quatre," she said. "No need for tears. Just play for me." 

And I did. Over and over again. I've played for hours in this room. I've lost track of time. I know that somewhere on the other side of the door, someone is standing there, guarding this place for me. I know that I'm not alone. I know someone is listening. I know someone can hear my screaming. I know someone felt it. Feels it. Someone else is in pain. 

War does this to me. 

I hate killing. Everyone knows how much I hate killing. I don't often use the word hate, but hate is all I know now. I hate killing. I hate war. I hate blood. My hands... I hate my reddened hands. My father warned me, didn't he? Yes. But at the time I wasn't aware that a pacifist Gundam pilot is a shameful oxymoron. 

I really hate killing. I hate it. 

"Is he in there?" A voice. Trowa? Back from his mission. Finally. 

"Yes." Wufei. Wufei is guarding my door. Did I tell him to? I don't even remember. 

"Let me pass." 

"No." 

There is a silence beneath my violin's voice, a deadly silence of two deadly men, their glares threatening each other, a play of deadly games. Deadly. Everything is always deadly. 

"How long?" 

"Four hours and thirty... six minutes." 

For a moment, the only thing I could hear was my own screaming. My violin's screaming. My... mother? Something. I heard a woman's voice again. I was getting to the height of the melody, a climatic performance before I start all over yet again. How many times will I dance this beat, how long will it take before the blood is finally gone? 

"...let me help him." 

"He needs to be alone, Trowa." 

"Bullshit." 

"I am not letting you pass." 

Alone. Sounds vaguely familiar. Yes Trowa, I am alone aren't I? My bow rocked and seesawed along the strings as fingers danced in a familiar waltz, a never-ending play of one power to another. Life to death. Peace to war. Yes. Alone. 

My tone suddenly leapt for the skies and it became very demanding, very quick and very abrupt, angry. Very very angry. I played hard, the music flowing through my hands without my consent. I could feel my bangs glued to my forehead in sweat, my eyes shut tight in a painful premonition as I wove up and down. Going faster. And faster. Faster! 

"Jesus... listen to him! Wufei, you don't understand. Let me pass." 

Faster, damnit! Faster!! 

"...I'm sorry, Trowa. I can't." 

I am the music. Music is who I am. Faster, Quatre. Faster. 

"Damn he's playing--" 

Smoke. I smelled smoke. How long at it been? I felt a disturbing sense come to me, something told me that I let the climax drawl out too far, that I was playing for the speed, that I lost--"Hush, my Quatre," she said to me in the rush. "Don't think it. Feel it." 

"--like he's sold his soul to Death!" A different voice. Death. Duo? 

"Let me pass, Wufei." Trowa. His voice was cold. Fatal. Deadly. 

"No." 

"Jesus, Wu! C'mon." 

"No Maxwell." 

Yes. Duo. 

Without my knowledge, the speed finally receded. I could smell smoke. Something was burning. Four hours... four... hours? 

"Listen you stubborn jackass, I need to get in there!!" 

"You're not going to pass me without a fight for it. Do you understand that? He needs this. I will not let you pass." I never heard Wufei's voice so... so cold before. No. Not cold. Deadly? No. It was full of everything. Emotion for the unemotional. 

"Did he ask you to do this for him?" 

Yes. Yes, I'm sure that I did. I did, didn't I? 

Yes. I remember. 

Wufei and I had just come back from a mission together. It was one of the few we had ever done as partners, and I remember looking forward to it in a twisted sense, a chance to understand the strange man better, to know who he is, really is, beyond the burning onyx eyes, justice consumed and ready. I remember looking forward to that mission. I remember... 

That was the mission from hell. 

I killed at least thirty people today. Some of them were innocent. Some of them...

Quatre... are you alright?  
No. I'm going to play. Don't let the others in here. 

I didn't even ask him. I told him. He didn't even ask me. He accepted it without question. 

"...Yes. He did." 

"Why would he do that? That's not..." 

That's not something Quatre would do. Quatre isn't like that. Quatre is a pacifist. Quatre knows better. Quatre is kind. Quatre is open. Quatre... Quatre is just Quatre. 

"He is different in war." 

"We all are." 

"The music's slowed down. I think it's gonna end soon." 

"No. He's done this piece twenty times. It repeats again very soon." 

"Twenty?" 

"He'll continue to play until the music lets him go." Trowa? That was Trowa. 

"What if..." A pause. "What if it doesn't?" 

"Then he'll play forever." 

"He'd die first." 

"No." 

Silence. It ended. 

Should I play again? 

---------- 

Cherry blossoms. I remember cherry blossoms. An office. A window. I smelled cherry blossoms. In the yard. L4. 

"Father, should I play again?" 

I turned, I was young, about thirteen. My father sat behind an old oak desk. A very expensive old oak desk. He had his sleeves rolled back as he buried his head into the papers below him, old red hair and a mustache hiding behind a stack of schematics. His eyes flipped from left to right. He hadn't heard me. He usually did, my father never neglected me... but things were bothering him. He knew. 

"Father?" 

He popped his eyes up for only a moment, and in that moment I saw a glitter of realization spark in them before they retreated back to the paper, concern etched in his eyes. He waved a kind hand and forced a grin. "Yes, play again." 

I nodded and turned, gazing out the window of the office again. Cherry blossoms. Beautiful. I inhaled a deep breath, closed my eyes and began to play another tune. A softer one. Delicate. I heard it hummed in my head. A woman, I think. Someone was humming and I played it. Innocent. 

It is innocent, right? 

"Quatre?" 

"Hmm?" 

"What are you playing?" 

"Something in my head." 

"What is its name?" 

I thought about that for a long moment. I couldn't answer, so I shook my head. "It doesn't have one." 

"I remember that song." 

I continued to play; my hands had already become slave to the music. There was only the voice now. I turned and opened my eyes to study him, the music never slipping its grasp on my body. He was tense. "You do?" 

He nodded, but didn't answer. He dropped his papers on the desk and eyed me a long steady look. He was... angry? Frightened? Too many to tell. 

"Father, what is it?" 

He sat there, warring with himself for several minutes. I watched as the emotions danced along his brow. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Fear... Anger. Anger... Silence. "I don't want you going off to fight in this damned war, Quatre." 

He did know. How did he know? The music faltered. I stopped playing. I was speechless. 

"You're not going." 

After a long moment of silence, I finally found my voice. "It was only a flight test, father. I'm sorry for lying to you, but I wanted to know if I was capable." 

Behind a red mustache, my father gritted his teeth. "Capable of killing?" 

"No. Capable of saving." 

He pointed to a paper on his desk. Damn. That's how he knew. "You aced that test." 

I simply nodded. 

"You're not going." 

I wouldn't answer that. 

"You're not going, Quatre." 

"Yes, Father." 

The meanings? We already know the answer to that question. 

---------- 

I still hadn't started the song. I heard an argument outside the door. I couldn't decipher the words. 

I killed today. I killed. I hate killing.

---------- 

_Please don't make me kill you._

Thoughts before every battle. 

"Ha! You really think I'm going to surrender to a kid? Idiot. Kill em." 

The gruff voice of a man in a Leo, the head of an obnoxious group of ten, surrounded Sandrock with intense greed to kill. I gripped the controls and cursed myself, damning every God for setting this fate to me, and then apologizing to them as a little yipping voice in the back of my head demanded it. After conceding to my conscience, I began damning the men who surrounded me, damning myself, damning my... father. I knew they'd never surrender, but that wasn't the point. This is really for another man, a dead man, and I know it well enough to avoid it every time. I didn't want to disappoint this man anymore. And more than that, I didn't want to disappoint myself. 

Maybe once, just maybe in a sea of doubts and suicidal compromises, just maybe one would finally surrender and see 04 for what he really was. A pacifist Gundam pilot is an oxymoron. It is. I know that better than anyone. 

"Fools..." 

"You hear that, Johnny? He's cursing us." 

"Yeah, we should teach him a lesson." 

"Capture?" 

"Definitely." 

"What do you say to that, kid?" 

For a moment, the only thing I heard was a buzz in my mind, the little yipping voice continuing its rounds of torture while screaming for me to just let it go and slay them all down for good. They'd refused. I knew they would. They always do. I should just kill them all and end it. End it now. 

Yes. Kid. Yes, kid. Kid what do you say to that? 

"I say," my voice was thick with emotion. "I say you're an idiot, sir." 

There was a wave of laughter over the com. "Should we kill him now, Gunn? Please?" 

"No, try to disable him. I want to have fun, got it?" 

I could feel their smirks through thick Gundanium armor. I could taste their amusement. It was... delicious. I laughed. I don't know why, but I did. "I'd like to see you catch me. And sir... I warned you. It was a nice talk, but I must be going now. Sorry about this." 

"What--" 

The gruff man's voice, the one called Gunn, was abruptly cut off when I pinched his Leo in between both blades of Sandrock, promptly slicing him in half. There was a scream and then nothing. Four more Leos shot at once, but they didn't manage any damage on the one Gundam built for more defense than any other suit in entire Earth Sphere. I whirled and took each of them out, muting the screams and battle cries shattering within my body. The remaining five pounced on me at once, each firing his cannon. 

Sandrock shook from the blow and the lights flickered. I nearly caught my head on controls before I stopped myself, smacking my hand in its place. I cursed under my breath. They had managed to take out a few minor systems and life support was now on its last shred of existence. There was nasty nick in the Gundam's torso. The movements of both my arms had a full half-second delay. Damn. 

Working with the timing, my sluggish right arm whirled around and barely hit its attacking target, not killing but disabling. The Leo's gun was still in operation and it fired at my weakened torso, taking advantage of the situation. The Gundam shook again, but I was ready, had already sent the left arm in an arc and cleanly sliced the mobile suite like a hot knife through butter. I heard his scream, then felt nothing. I blocked everything out at this point, I couldn't afford to deal with it, and I was not going to allow myself to feel the pain of my enemy's dying breath. I was hurt enough. 

No. Concentrate. Wufei. Wufei was around somewhere. Had to be careful. 

Three left. Two ahead and one behind. The one behind fired his cannon again and struck me in the back. Sandrock shook but he wasn't damaged any worse, and I sent both blades in an outward arc, striking the two suites in my front as they prepared a double attack. I hit. They died. 

The one at my back hit me in a punch and Sandrock quaked. I struck my hand on a metal corner in the cockpit, I hadn't been ready for the blow, and pain seared into me as the sharp surface tore my flesh in a very deep cut. I growled, slightly angry and admittedly high on that pain as I turned to face the last one. Victim? 

"I'm going to kill you, you..." There was pause, then a scream. "You bastard!!" 

He lunged to punch me, war cries filling the com and sea of space between us, but he never made the strike. Already anticipating the move, I had sent the both arms in a pinch maneuver and sliced his suite clean through. 

"Sorry," I whispered. I allowed myself to feel this one die. I always do that if I get the chance. The last ones deserve that honor. They deserve to be felt. 

There was a grunt and then a war cry behind me, Wufei's cry, as he tore his last victim apart. I spent that moment concentrating on my hand, letting myself feel the pain of that wound with everything inside of me so as not to listen to the screaming. After a long moment of silence, drifting in the debris of battle, Wufei's voice cracked and dragged me back to the surface. "04, report." 

"Fine." My voice was bitter. I cringed. 

"I'm switching to vid and a private line." I waited for the call and accepted it. The endless void of space before me flickered and Wufei's gritting--nervous?--expression filled the screen. "Cat?" That got my attention. He didn't use that name very often. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"The hell you are." He studied me in the silence and I did nothing to stop him. He was probing my thoughts and searching my very soul for answers. 

"I'm fine, Wufei." 

He shook his head. "Status?" 

"My right hand is injured." I held it up for him, and he nodded. "I have a half-second delay on both arms and life support's shot, but other than that I'm clean." I tried to grin for him, but it turned into an awkward twist of the lips. I resorted to frowning. It was easier. "You?" 

"Clean... Quatre, can you make it back to base?" 

"Yes." 

He set up his jets and I followed, but he kept the vid link open. He continued to study me. I grimaced. Then he looked down and cursed. 

"Shit, there's more." He bent down, studying his radar and schematics. "They're chasing us back." 

I grinned rather morose. "No reinforcements can reach us in time. We're alone." 

"Can you take another battle?" 

"Yes." 

And I did. Wave after wave. Death after death. It was hell. So many. There was no point. 

---------- 

"Quatre?" 

Wufei stood with his arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with a mask fitting in place. His eyes spoke of concern, but beyond that, there was nothing. 

Trowa was the one who spoke. I turned. I hadn't realized it, but I was staring. At nothing, just staring. I was still holding the violin on my shoulder, my chin hugging the rest. My hand was flat at my side, the bow loose in my grip. After a blurry moment, green eyes met mine. Trowa. 

"Yes?" My voice cracked. I didn't think it was loud enough for Wufei to hear, but Trowa did. His eyes sparkled in response and he gently placed a hand over my fist, the one at my side holding the bow. With a careful pry of fingers, he slipped the bloody--bloody?--bow of out my grip and let it fall to the floor. Then he took away the violin. My shoulder tingled. My neck ached. My chin cursed. His eyes never left mine. 

Without a word, Trowa gently grasped the hand that had been holding the bow and studied it. I was starting to remember again. That had been the hand I cut myself with. The one from the battle... yesterday? Hard to tell. 

It was bandaged. It was bloody. It hurt like hell. 

"Quatre?" 

"Yes, Trowa?" My voice was a little clearer this time. 

"Why did you stop playing?" 

"She told me to." 

"Who?" 

"My mother." 

Silence. 

"Quatre?" 

"Yes, Trowa?" 

"Come rest." 

I stood there and thought about that. I didn't want to rest. I wanted to play. 

"Trowa?" 

"Quatre? 

"Will you play with me?" 

He studied my eyes. He stared. He always stared at my eyes. I always let him. 

After a long moment, he finally nodded. "Yes." And he flipped open the flute case already sitting on the table. I bent and retrieved the bloody bow from the floor and set the violin into a familiar sitting. Everything felt right. It hurt, but I didn't care. I wanted to play. I wasn't done yet. 

I started as Trowa set up the flute. I started like I did the first time we did this. I started. He joined in. We played. 

Forever. 

--_Fini_


End file.
